


Wildfire Red

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a little bit of angst, and Enjolras is really bad at seduction, because it's these two, grantaire is oblivious, idek, manic panic hair dye, nina simone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And this is how he ends up washing Enjolras’s hair, his hands sliding up the back of his skull with Nina Simone crooning in the background and is he still asleep? He must still be asleep, which is really fucking likely because <b>10 am on a Saturday</b>. He must be dreaming and any minute he’s going to hear knocking on his door and it will be Enjolras and they won’t be all weird and quiet, they’ll immediately find something to violently disagree about and the world will be <b>normal</b> again and he swears he’s got liquid silk in his hands and he really really really wants to touch his long sloping back, wants to leave his handprint in water right there at the small of it, right above the dark line of his jeans that are slung <b>really</b> low and, <b>God</b>, he has <b>back dimples</b>...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildfire Red

_Hello Grantaire, this is Enjolras. From the Musain._

He’s tempted to text back,  _who???_ because, seriously? but he waits for him to continue, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he wonders what he did. Or didn’t do. Enjolras has never texted him directly before - at most he’s been included in mass messages about meetings or protests or drives or bake sales or whatever the fuck it is this week, but he’s never contacted  _just_  him. 

He’s about to hit send on  _what did I do now?_ when

_I saw Prouvaire the other day._

pops up.

And then

_He said you dyed his hair for him._

_I really liked it and was wondering if you would do the same for me?_

_In a different color?_

And he stares at his phone and he doesn’t know how to respond to that because of all the things Enjolras might text him about,  _dyeing his hair_  is not even close to being on the list. It’s not even in the  _vicinity_  of being on the list...

He types back

**_red_ **

**_?_ **

_Yes, I think so._

_Is that a yes then?_

**_y_ **

_Should I come to yours? What do I need to bring? I am free on Saturday if that works for you? Is 10 am alright?_

No, 10 am is fucking  _not alright_ on a  _Saturday_  he thinks as he types

**_y_**  -  ** _just bring yrself i have stuff_**

And that’s how Enjolras ends up in his apartment at 10 am on the dot with him standing in the middle of his living room with hunched shoulders and hands jammed into his pockets so far his pants are in real danger of being shoved off his ass watching him  _look at his things_  and feeling completely and utterly exposed even though he’s hidden the more incriminating paintings in the bedroom. The rest are stacked in a corner facing the wall and he’s fully prepared to tackle Enjolras if he goes anywhere  _near_  them.

Luckily (unluckily?) Enjolras is mostly just preoccupied with his bookshelf. His eyes flicker over to him in surprise every once in a while, and he can’t tell which titles are impressing him in particular from where he’s standing and he doesn’t ask because Enjolras  _looking at his things_  makes him feel quiet which he’s sure he’s noticed because quiet is not really something Grantaire  _does_. Enjolras hasn’t said much either which is also weird. He just handed him a cup of coffee and came right in, drawn immediately to the shelves he's made from abandoned fruit crates stacked on top of each other, next to each other, taking up almost the entire wall and filled to bursting with his crap. 

He tenses as he nears the corner where all of his work is piled up, but his fingers ghost over his records instead, one touching down and running lightly along the rim of the player he found in the trash that Feuilly fixed for him because Feuilly is magic and Grantaire clears his throat which sounds like a gunshot making them both jump. 

“You can put something on if you want... I’ll go set up...” and then he practically runs to the bathroom to escape from the awkwardness of  _not fighting with Enjolras._

He gets down on his knees and opens the cabinet under the sink, rummaging for the jars of Manic Panic he and Jehan shoplifted last week for their project.

He knows they had grabbed a red... 

Okay,  _he_  had grabbed a red. He had slipped  _Wildfire_ into the pocket of his coat hardly knowing why when Jehan was much more suited to pastels. He just knew he wanted a red one.

He finds it hiding behind a never opened/never will be opened can of Comet cleaner that has been in his apartment longer than he has and reaches for the ruined towels from last time to spread on the floor and-

_“I want a little sugar_

_in my bowl...”_  

“Oh, Jesus...”

_“I want a little sweetness_

_down in my soul...”_

He put on Nina.

_“I could stand some lovin’_

_Oh so bad...”_

He put on  _Nina_.

_“I feel so funny, I feel so sad...”_

He calls out in a strangled voice that makes him clench his eyes shut in embarrassment, “Ok, I’m ready for you...”

And he is so not. He  _is so not_. 

He is so thoroughly  _hung up_ on him and has been since Feuilly dragged him to a meeting three months ago. Which he recognizes is completely stupid and pathetic and pretty much the most masochistic behavior he has ever engaged in which is saying a  _lot_ because not only does Enjolras not particularly  _like_ him let alone lust after him like he lusts after him, he doesn’t seem to like  _anyone_  in that way. In that _I-want-to-lick-every-inch-of-your-naked-body_ way. Which makes fantasizing about him a little tricky because he stupidly can only really get off if there’s some amount of realism which... how that works makes absolutely no sense to him, because, keyword:  _fantasy_... It's hard enough to pretend that Enjolras would want to touch him at  _all_ let alone  _him_  out of all the people he  _could_  be touching but doesn’t seem to want to, so it's already more of a struggle than it should be, because, again,  _realism_ , which means he pretty much shakes apart at the first imagined kiss which is embarrassing as fuckand  _stop thinking about it stop thinking about it stop thinking about it..._

_“I want some steam_

_on my clothes..._

_Maybe I can fix things up_

_so they’ll go...”_

_Oh, God...._

Enjolras appears in the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the frame. “Do you have, um, product or anything in your hair?” he asks getting awkwardly to his feet and he shakes his head no. “You mean you just roll out of bed in the morning and it looks like that?” He shrugs coming further into the bathroom that’s really really small still not using  _words_  which is seriously starting to freak him the fuck  _out._ “Did you wash it before coming over? If not you can stick your head in the sink or something... Or y’know. The shower’s right there. I have shampoo. Obviously. I have shampoo...” 

Enjolras reaches past him and his babbling to grab the bottle and sets it on the edge of the sink. 

And then he takes his shirt off. 

Just, like, _takes his shirt right off in front of him_ , and he’s really trying not to hyperventilate as he folds it over what passes for a towel rack in this place. This tiny tiny place where there’s barely enough room for the both of them. 

“I’ll just use the sink,” he says simply turning to turn on the water and Grantaire is still standing there staring like an idiot, watching the muscles of his back as he bends, the shifting blades of his shoulders moving under his marble-pale skin as he reaches to adjust the temperature while dousing his hair under the stream and the way their bodies are lined up right now in this tiny tiny space is unbearably suggestive and-

“Hey... could you...?” Enjolras gestures blindly towards the shampoo bottle, jerking Grantaire out of his paralysis and he stutters, “Yeah. Sure. Yeah.”

And this is how he ends up washing Enjolras’s hair, his hands sliding up the back of his skull with Nina Simone crooning in the background and is he still asleep? He must still be asleep, which is really fucking likely because  _10 am on a Saturday._ Hemust be dreaming and any minute he’s going to hear knocking on his door and it will be Enjolras and they won’t be all weird and quiet, they’ll immediately find something to violently disagree about and the world will be  _normal_ again and he swears he’s got liquid silk in his hands and he really really really wants to touch his long sloping back, wants to leave his handprint in water right there at the small of it, right above the dark line of his jeans that are slung  _really_  low and,  _God_ , he has  _back dimples_...

He takes a deep breath and turns off the faucet instead, runs his hands through Enjolras’s hair one last time, squeezing out the water and grabbing a clean towel as he straightens, dark twists of wet hair hanging in front of his eyes, scattering droplets down his breast... and he might pass out, he really might pass out, hit his head on something porcelain, and  _die_  so he throws the towel at Enjolras’s head and backs out of the bathroom shouting “Dry off!” over

_“When I touch you do you quiver_

_From your head down to your liver...”_

“There’s a hair dryer under the sink I think? I dunno, it’s Eponine’s!” and he goes to the kitchen under the guise of retrieving the coffee when really he’s just going so he can quietly freak out for a minute in private.

_“If you like it let me know it_

_Don't be psychic or you'll blow it...”_

The dryer starts going and he texts Jehan because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do.

_“The answer better be yes...”_

**_e is in my bathroom half naked_ **

_“Great God Almighty that pleases me...”_

**_i washed his hair_ **

_WAT_

**_he asked me to dye his hair_ **

**_he liked yours_ **

_OMG DON’T DO IT HIS HAIR IS THE PERF_

**_did u miss thepart where i sed half naked_ **

_;)_

**_not helping_ **

The dryer turns off and after a moment Enjolras pads into the kitchen, the towel he’d thrown in his face around his neck, his hair all fluffy like a baby chick’s but still somehow stupidly  _perfect_  and Grantaire hands him his coffee, shakes his phone at him, the screen  _not_  in view.

“Jehan says you’re not allowed to dye your hair because it is, and I quote, “The Perf”.”

“I don’t want the whole thing...” he says, taking a sip. “I’ll look like Ronald McDonald.”

And Grantaire snorts because... Yes. Yes, he would.

They smile at each other for a minute and Enjolras is still topless which isn’t helping his breathing situation any, but it’s nice. The smiling at each other. It's really... Usually it’s snarling and he’s wondering if it’s maybe just something about the Musain that makes them want to yell at each other about everything? Because it’s not even always fucking politics that they argue about there. They literally argued about the  _weather_  once which is  _the safest topic of all the topics_... But right here right now he can't think of a single thing to disagree with...

“What about... streaks? I was thinking more like streaks?”

“Yeah...  _Yeah_ , streaks would be really good... I can hide them in there...” He reaches out to touch before he can stop himself and Enjolras lets him. His fingers sink into his hair, sifting through and really, it really does feel like fucking silk... He swallows thickly and Enjolras is looking at him from over his coffee with steady blue eyes. “All this  _gold_... and then, like, flashes of red... It’s very...” his fingers catch on the curve of his ear.

“What?”

“ _You,_ ” he says and he lets go of him stepping back to retrieve his own coffee which is cold and kind of gross now but he downs the whole thing anyway in one long pull.

“Ok,” Enjolras says. “Let’s do it.” 

He turns on his heel, practically marching back to the bathroom and Grantaire follows feeling a little light headed and in need of something stronger than coffee.

+++

“ _Please_  let me?”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“Grantaire.”

“What.”

“You can not take my picture when I look like this.”

Enjolras has his hair tied up in several ponytails all haphazardly twisted about his head like some bizarre crown, the second row of them coated with bright red sludge and Grantaire really wants to document this because

“You look like 90’s Gwen Stefani...”

“Gran-”

“Don’t speak.” 

“... Granta-”

“I know just what you’re saying.”

He turns away to hide a smile that Grantaire totally catches and he tries one more time with his phone as Enjolras wiggles past him actually saying “ _Nuh uh_ ” and flashing a bright toothy grin over his shoulder as he exits the bathroom. Grantaire laughs out loud at him and he’s never even  _met_  this Enjolras before...

Ridiculously-Pissed-Off-At-Every-Thing-You-Can-Possibly-Be-Pissed-Off-At Enjolras is fucking awesome in his own right, but this Enjolras is...

This Enjolras is really neat too.

He follows him back into the living room and he’s at his records again but he doesn’t pick another one, he restarts Nina a few songs in and Grantaire quirks an eyebrow at him.

_“You made me leave my happy home...”_

"I like her...” he murmurs. “Combeferre made me a mix once with “Sinnerman” on it.”

“ _You took my love and now you're gone...”_

“That's song's amazing. She's amazing.”

_“Since I fell for you...”_

"He has this album. He listens to it a lot when he uh..." He trails off and it kind of looks like he's blushing but he can't be because Enjolras doesn't  _blush..._ and Grantaire suddenly really wants to know what Combeferre does when he listens to  _Nina Simone Sings the Blues_...

_“Love brings such misery and pain..._

_I guess I'll never be the same..._

_Since I fell for you...”_

“Can I see the project?" Enjolras asks, abruptly changing the subject before Grantaire can ask him how his sentence was going to end. "Jehan said you guys dyed his hair for a project... Was it for a class?” 

“Um. Yeah, you can see it... it’s not done though - he’s gonna take the prints and write on them... He has really gorgeous handwriting. But you probably already knew that...”

_“Well, it's too bad...”_

“Mine’s like chickenscratch...”

_“It's so sad...”_

“Like, if the chicken was a serial killer? And a lefty but writing right handed?”

_“I'm in love with you...”_

“Yeah... that’s an accurate... um...”

_“You love me..._

_Then you snub me..._

_But what can I do..._

_I'm still in love with you...”_

He slides the rolled up prints out of their tube as Enjolras clears the counter for him and Jehan is suddenly spread out before them, fine-boned and pale and ethereal as fuck _,_ and Enjolras’s breath leaves him with a soft, “Wow _...”_

He’d dyed Jehan’s hair a seafoam green that made him look like a mermaid and photographed him lying on the hardwood floor with it streaming across the weathered boards like seaweed. He’d added roses from the shop on the corner for a punch of color and Jehan idly pricked his fingers on the thorns as he held the stems to his belly, the blossoms shattered across his breast like an exploded heart, petals streaming off his shoulder and into the soft tumbles of his hair. He’d smiled softly as Grantaire hovered over him with his camera taking shot after shot after shot breathing in the dust and flowers, and Grantaire could  _see_  him composing sonnets in his head, could  _see_  him imagining words falling from his lips and spreading like water across the paint stained floor...

“I didn’t even have to do anything in post before getting them enlarged... He really just looks like that...”

“... These are beautiful... You... you’re really talented, Grantaire.”

“Nah. I didn’t do much but point and click... It’s all Jehan...”

“I didn’t know you were taking a photography class...” he says looking at the next one, a close up of slightly parted lips, just a hint of teeth and a streak of hair, a soft green slash like a wound across his cheek, his neck.

“I’m not. This was for us.”

“What do you mean?”

He can feel Enjolras’s eyes on him patiently waiting for him to answer and he pauses because he doesn’t want to ruin this... this  _easiness..._  or whatever it is that’s been here all morning because it’s really nice and  _nice_  is a nice respite from the usual bullshit that makes up his existence and-

"Oh," Enjolras says after a moment, and the way he says it -“ _Oh_ ” - makes him think Enjolras has the wrong idea about it and he says quickly,

“I don’t mean “us” like... “ _Us_ ”. It’s not like that, we just...” he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, knowing he's going to regret this. “Sometimes one of us feels...  _especially shitty_. And rather than doing what we do when we feel like that we started trying stuff like this... Projects... or whatever. Like... a distraction. From the shitty.”

Enjolras looks up at him, says softly, “Does it work?” and he shrugs and looks away because he can’t seem to meet Enjolras’s eyes for very long when he’s not being combative. And apparently neither can Enjolras because his gaze drops too and he freezes when it lands on

Fuck.

_Fuck._

He really should have taken out the trash before he came over because it’s really fucking obvious if you look at it what he does when he’s feeling  _especially shitty._  And it’s not like Enjolras doesn’t  _know_  what he does, it’s not like they don’t all  _know_ , because he’s really fucking high functioning, but not high enough to hide it all that well when he’s really in it and he’s  _really_  in it  _most_  of the time, but it’s different actually seeing all the bottles, an almost  _absurd_  amount of bottles that border on _art installation,_ like,fucking _Portait of an Alcoholic Asshole as a Young Man_ , or fucking whatever, and he can tell by Enjolras’s  _face_ that he thinks he’s drowning, but he’s not drowning, he’s  _not_. 

This is how he keeps afloat.

“Grantaire...”

_I’m not drowning._

“Let’s get that crap out of your hair,” he says, and this time he’s the one leading the way.

+++

“Will you let me take your picture now?”

He breaks out the puppy face. Or what approximates a puppy face on his face and Enjolras rolls his eyes and sighs, “Oh, alright,  _fine_...”

And he knew he was going to say yes because he's being really  _soft_ with him right now because of the whole _I-have-seen-with-my-own-eyes-the-depths-of-your-disgustingness-and-I-pity-you-mortal_  which actually pisses him off, but his hair looks so fucking amazing he wants to document it because it will never look like this again, plus he thinks this might be the only time he will ever be able to get him to pose for him so he really wants to make the most of it even though he also kind of maybe wants him to leave and  _has_  wanted him to leave ever since Enjolras washed the stuff out of his hair by himself while he smoked a cigarette out the window and pretended not to care.

“Where do you want me?”

_Everywhere._

“In the light... the light’s really good right now... Yeah, right by the window... 

_*click*_

He looks down at the screen and Enjolras... he doesn’t even look  _real..._ The light’s not even bouncing off his skin so much as his skin is  _absorbing_  it like a fucking  _super power_ making him glow white and gold with that jolt of violent red curled against his neck now and blue blue eyes that are fixed on him and his lips are really full and parted just a little and his throat is long and his shoulders are smooth and even his clavicles are perfect and he knows Enjolras thinks it's an insult when he compares him to a Greek statue, but seriously, if he had ever actually  _seen_ one up close he'd be hard-pressed not to understand where he's coming from when he makes the comparison.

He takes as many shots as he thinks he can get away with and ends up lying on his back on the floor at Enjolras's feet while he towers above him, the sun at his back, outlining the shape of him in light, his hair a halo with wildfire edges and he can barely see his face that’s in shadow and it’s spooky as hell and he thinks these are the shots Enjolras will like best.

“Let me help you clean up...” he says when he gets to his feet and he shrugs a “Naw, that’s okay, I got it...” because it will take exactly two seconds to shove the towels back under the sink.

He looks up at him after fiddling with the cameras settings for too long, finally finding the courage to ask him if he wants to get lunch or maybe listen to some more records but falters when he sees his face. 

He’s frowning at him. 

Frowning like he usually frowns at him and all of a sudden he feels like he’s massively fucked everything all up but this time he doesn’t know  _how_. Usually he has a pretty clear idea but... they’d made it through that bad spot. He didn’t want him to leave anymore and Enjolras wasn’t looking at him so... pityingly anymore.

Now he just looks frustrated like he always looks frustrated when he looks at him and he sputters, “Is it your hair? Do you not like it?” because he really can’t think of anything else he might have  _done_... Besides be himself. Which.

He swallows.

This is the most himself he’s ever been in front of Enjolras. Here in his apartment with all his things that spell out his brain and his heart and his...  _self_  and Enjolras doesn’t answer, just continues to look at him in that way that means _what the hell is wrong with you, Grantaire_ and he continues sort of desperately,  _hating_  himself for sounding so desperate, "Because it'll fade out, it'll go away. I promise I didn't ruin you..."

“It's fine. You didn't do anything I didn't specifically ask you to do, I... I just remembered I have to meet Combeferre... so I have to go." Enjolras steps past him, throwing a "Thank you. Grantaire,” over his shoulder as he pulls his t-shirt on over his head and Grantaire flashes on the grin he gave him when he tried to take his picture on his cell phone and he swears it was genuine, he swears he meant it so why-

The door clicks shut behind him before he has a chance to say anything and he doesn’t know what just happened. He really doesn’t know what he  _did_ , what-

There’s a knock on his door.

He opens it and Enjolras says so quickly he almost misses it

“DoyoureallythinkIcareaboutmyhair? Like at  _all_?”

And Grantaire blinks, because  _what?_

“What?”

He takes a deep breath and Grantaire stares at Enjolras 3.0 - Flustered-And-Inarticulate-and-what-the-fuck-is-going- _on-Enjolras_ 3.0, and he is  _completely_ mystified and feeling a little sick.

“ _I don’t care about my hair._  That wasn’t... that isn’t why I’m... why I-”

“Do you need some water?”

“Jesus Christ, I’m bad at this...” he mutters to himself, pressing his palms to his eyes.

“I have water...” he tries again.

“Oh my God, you’re even  _worse_...” He takes his hands away, blinks at him once. Twice. “I have to go. I'm going."

And he does. 

He turns awkwardly and Grantaire watches him hurry down the hallway and he really has no fucking clue what...

“Enjolras, it looks awesome, I promise...” he calls out pathetically as the front door slams shut and he stumbles back into his apartment not knowing what to do because it is too  _fucking early for this shit_  and he hasn’t had anything stronger than coffee yet because he was trying to be  _good_  but  _fuck good_  because he should have known better than to drop the armor, to let his guard down-

The camera’s sitting on his counter. 

He didn’t get a chance to show him the pictures and he’ll really like the ones where he looks scary and maybe he won’t be so upset then if he sees them, if he sees that Grantaire didn’t fuck up, he did what he asked and he did it  _well_  and he can  _prove_  it... 

He finds him at the end of the block on his phone, he’s cradling it to his ear with both hands and he can tell how upset he is even from behind and his voice is really small, smaller than he’s ever heard it when he says, “I thought you said Nina always works... He had the record just like Eponine said he did and I put it on and it  _didn’t work at all_  and then I tried  _again_  and all he did was  _dye my hair_... Yes, I know I asked him to but he was supposed to know what I was really asking when I put on the record and then he didn’t want me to help him clean up and I could tell he wanted me to go so I left and I feel like an asshole, and this sucks, and  _whydoesanyonetrytodateanyone?_  I don’t understand how this  _works..._ ” and Enjolras turns then and he sees him then and he freezes and his cheeks flush wildfire red and Grantaire holds up the camera dumbly.

“I wanted to show you how good it looks... so you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore...”

And Enjolras hangs up the phone without saying goodbye.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Ok.”

Pause.

“I’m really embarrassed right now,” he says. “This is really embarrassing.”

“No, it’s no-”

“Yes, it is.”

“No-”

“It really really is. I tried to seduce you and I failed. Miserably. And then I upset you. And then I freaked out and ran away.”

He’s trying not to smile. He’s really trying not to smile because he looks so flustered and embarrassed and he can’t help himself, he really can’t...

“Do you at least like your hair?”

“OH MY GOD I DON’T CARE ABOUT MY HAIR” he yells and all of a sudden Enjolras is kissing him. Like, really  _kissing_  him, like kissing him the way he kisses him in his dreamsand he wraps his arms around him, the camera probably digging uncomfortably into his side but Enjolras just kisses him harder, deeper, and gasps into his mouth, “ _Yes_ , I  _like_  it ok?” when they come up for air and then, “I like  _you_...” and he wants to argue, wants to say,  _you couldn’t possibly_ , or,  _it’s because you’ve been breathing in fumes from the manic panic in a small bathroom with really poor air circulation_  and Enjolras says, softly, but not the same softly as before when he was being careful and it made him want to curl up and die, “Stop it. I know what you’re doing.”

“Enj-”

“I don’t lie. I’m not a liar.”

“I know that.”

“Then believe me,” he says and his hands are on either side of his face, sliding into his hair, touching him the way he touched him in the kitchen, sifting through, tangling, caressing, tracing the curve of his ears and he whispers, “Ok?”

And he kisses him, he kisses him, and he whispers back,“Ok.”

“You’re supposed to say you like me too.”

“You know I do...”

“I don’t actually.”

“My tongue was just in your mouth. It’s safe to assume.”

“I’d still like to hear it,” he says and his voice sounds small, like “ _I thought you said Nina always works”_ small and he smiles, he smiles so huge and he says “ _I like you too, Enjolras_ ” and then “Did you really ask Combeferre what music to put on?”

“He told me Nina is for wooing.” 

“And ah... what did he say about... ah...  _post_  wooing...”

“Otis.”

“Well... _it just so happens_ -”

“You have a "Best of" album. I know,” he swallows, wets his lips and his eyes are steady and blue and  _burning_  and he breathes against his lips, “I almost lost it when I saw it...”

“Do you really have to meet Combeferre in 5 minutes?” he breathes back.

“No." 

“Feel like listening to some records?”

And he kisses him down the sidewalk, he kisses him through the front door, down the hall, into his apartment, past the kitchen, past the bathroom, into his bedroom...

“Wait...” Enjolras gasps, and his shirt is gone again, his pants unbuckled, unzipped and half off his hips and he disappears and Grantaire lies in his bed on rumpled sheets half believing he really didn't ever wake up at all and Enjolras is about to knock on his door and 

Music from the living room.

Music from his record player getting louder as the volume’s turned up and Enjolras appears in his doorway, the light hitting him, making him glow gold and white and  _red_  now and he reaches out and Otis sings

_“... Baby, oh baby..._

_I’m calling you out loud and clear, baby..._

_I love you, yes I do..._

_And I wanna be near you, oh baby..._

_That’s what my heart needs...”_  

**Author's Note:**

> Songs!
> 
> Nina!  
> [ _I Want a Little Sugar In My Bowl_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sg384whVQzc)  
> [ _Do I Move You_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31bD7QCiV1Q)  
> [ _Since I Fell For You_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-msIigHZlw)
> 
> Otis!  
> [ _That's What My Heart Needs_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eprv6ek8N-I)


End file.
